Sacrifice
by scntlla
Summary: Many thought their lives to be blessed. Marianne considered it a curse. (Day 3 of #marihildaweek on twitter. Prompts: flowers, horse rides, fairytales. AU based off of Melanie Gillman's comic "SWEETROCK")


Simple was best, or so Marianne believed. It was why her flower crowns were all made the same way: vines wrapped in a circle, forming the base, with flat leaves and daisy stems decorating the space in between. While others preferred to make things of sparkling colors—of red, blue, violet, and orange—Marianne had stuck with soft, inoffensive shades of white and yellow. They were quiet, calm colors that didn't stand out against the others.

Her fingers were stained yellow by the time she finished forming the flower crown. She loved the meadows surrounding the village, and the endless flower patches that stretched beyond the plains. Marianne lived in a large settlement, whose livelihood was made from farming and animal husbandry. Far removed from the bigger cities and towns, the village was everything to those who lived in it, and few dared to move away from the place they call home.

Life continued at a usual, leisurely pace. Everyone was happy, acting as if their home was a paradise, and not the reaping grounds that Marianne thought it to be.

The prison she _knew _it to be.

There were certain things expected of the people who lived in the village, and there were tales recited which turned blood into ice, _fear _into _obedience. _

"Long ago, there lived a man named Maurice," Marianne's mother once said. "Maurice was a traveler, battle-weary and worn, who sought out victory over a selfish king. He failed in every attempt, however, and after finally admitting defeat, he asked the Gods for help."

Marianne was a docile, shy child, who never spoke out against her parents, even if part of her desperately wanted to. She wanted to ask _which Gods? _despite knowing her mother would disapprove of such outbursts. Instead, the turmoil remained hidden, and she continued to stare up at her mother with silence and adoration.

Her mother went on to say: "The Gods answered in kind. They brought down all sorts of monsters to aid Maurice in his quest. When he was done, however, he wanted more power than what the throne gave him, and so he began to abuse his authority. Angry at him for manipulating their trust, the Gods punished Maurice, and turned him into a ferocious beast. They cursed him with eternal life, and an unending hunger—one that can only be sated by the sacrifice of his own blood, of his many descendants who would later die in his name."

"That's scary," Marianne muttered, unable to hold back her true thoughts any longer. "W-Will I be sacrificed to Maurice, then? Will the beast come eat me?"

"I should hope not," her mother warned. "Our village is full of descendants of the Beast. Every year, a youth is chosen by the council as a sacrifice to satisfy his cravings. They wait in the Blutgang Cave—the place where Maurice's curse was first born—where the Beast awaits them, and disappear into the night, never to be seen again."

"N-No! I don't want to be eaten, Mama!"

"Then be good. The council watches over us all, you see, and they take great care to make sure only the best of us remain unharmed. Unruly children and sinful youths will be sacrificed to Maurice, and no one else."

"But why? What did we ever do to Maurice to make him hate us so much?"

"Those are not questions you need concern yourself with," she said. "Just behave and nothing bad will happen to you. Okay?"

"Okay," Marianne gave in. "Okay, I'll be a good girl so the Beast doesn't get me."

Her mother smiled. "That's what I like to hear. Now, storytime is over. Off to bed now, and hurry to sleep—the Beast comes out at night, and loves those who dwell in the darkness."

Marianne shut her eyes closed, and pulled the covers over her head. While she couldn't have known it at the time, the existence of the beast was yet to be verified by anyone that _wasn't _a sacrifice, but every year, the chosen sacrifice disappeared, which was enough to make the villagers believe it to be true. And although Marianne's better judgement said that it would be unfortunate to see the Beast with her own two eyes, part of her couldn't deny that she was so _curious, _and longed to see the truth behind the tale.

She dreamed of bloodshed every night thereafter.

.

.

Along with the yearly sacrifice, it was tradition for the townspeople to create flower crowns and bouquets, which were seen as additional offerings for the Beast. Marianne made the same simple crowns adorned with daisies, and every year she watched her hard work get tossed into the back of a wagon, buried underneath the prettier accessories that would surely please Maurice more, and keep him away from the good townspeople.

Many thought their lives to be blessed. Marianne considered it a curse.

She was almost eighteen years old, and by their village standards, nearly old enough to be exempt from being chosen as a sacrifice. She worked hard every year to be better than the last, and kept to herself as life went on around her. Most of the time, she tended to her family's animals, and occasionally went for rides on her favorite horse, Dorte. Other times, she sat quietly in her room, and read books to pass the time: fairy tales, encyclopedias, cookbooks, anything she could get her hands on, really.

Her mother divorced her birth father several years ago, and remarried to a prestigious noble known as Margrave Edmund, who passed through the village once while traveling to his vacation home in the countryside. It was a perfect arrangement, as her mother planned on moving out of the village after some time had passed, anyway, at which point Marianne would be old enough to escape the candidacy for being sacrificed, and the two of them would live in Margrave Edmund's estate lavishly, never to worry over themselves again.

Of course, when other villagers heard the news, they immediately grew jealous. They couldn't do much about Marianne's mother, as she was an adult and already decided, so instead they cornered Marianne herself, spewing hate and vitriol.

No one directly said anything to her face, though, which was what made it worse. Most of the others her age—children and adolescents who were still able to be sacrificed, as well—teased her, and isolated her from their activities. She never minded it, because she preferred solitude, in the first place, but it pained her all the same.

"You mustn't let those fools get the best of you, Marianne," Lorenz had once said. He was a lavish young man, who dreamed of rising to nobility himself, but was trapped in the village as they all wore. In spite of this, he pursued his dreams and a grand education, studying abroad in a high-end academy to avoid the village as much as possible. In some respects, Marianne envied him, but she realized that it didn't matter how she felt about him, as he decided his own path long ago. "They're simply jealous that you and your mother have pulled ahead. And once you turn eighteen, you're free to go."

"If only it were as simple as that…" she trailed off, eyes downcast. Lorenz was a friend that always scolded her for being so shy—it gave them more agency to step on her, he claimed. She wished she could change even the smallest things about herself, his insistence notwithstanding. "You're almost...uh, almost old enough, too. W-What will you do then?"

"Get out of this forsaken village, for one. I have half a mind to stay at Garreg Mach Academy full time, but those pushy elders keep sending people after me, and you don't know how embarrassing it is to have haggard old men showing up at your dorm." Lorenz pinched the bridge of his nose, face scrunched at the very thought. "I only have to stomach this place for a year longer. The day can't come soon enough."

Marianne simply nodded. While friends in the village were few and far between, she at least had Lorenz. She used to have others as well—Ignatz, Raphael, Lysithea, Leonie—all of who were taken in the years prior. Raphael was too rowdy, loud, and brazen. Lysithea was haughty, impatient, and stubborn. Leonie was outspoken, arrogant, and unyielding. Ignatz was cowardly, weak-willed, and lackluster. Those were the reasons given by the council elders as to why they were chosen, but Marianne felt as if none of it were true.

They were her friends, and good people, besides. They didn't deserve to die like that.

She hated the village, the Beast, and their shared curse. She hated the fact that every year, someone she knew disappeared, and it wouldn't end until she was old enough to leave, herself. Unable to match Lorenz's will with her own, however, she bade him farewell, and went to console herself with Dorte's presence.

On her sixteenth year, Lorenz was taken, and Marianne was left utterly alone.

She wished she felt surprised.

.

.

There was an account of all the people that had been sacrificed to the Beast, ever since the practice first begun generations and generations ago. Marianne had thumbed through it herself, remembering the names and recalling the faces of all that left her.

Ignatz, Raphael, Lysithea, Lorenz. Further back were former friends of her parents, Judith and Nader, taken in their youth. The old Riegan couple was listed, too, probably for their marriage at such a young age. Marianne always admired their stories, though, as well as the tales of their fearless demeanor.

Then there was Hilda, and Marianne missed her the most. Hilda was the daughter of Goneril, a prominent council elder. It wasn't often that the council's offspring were chosen for sacrifices, but Marianne remembered it like it was yesterday. Hilda's older brother, Holst, had an argument with their father, saying that the sacrifices were wrong and a sin against life itself. Holst was a seasoned hunter and warrior, part of the village guard which worked tirelessly to keep monsters and bandits at bay. After losing so many of his friends and fellow villagers over time, it was no wonder he'd grown to detest their yearly practice.

To everyone's surprise, Holst was chosen to be sacrificed that same year. For so long, the council was seen as untouchable, and never before had a council member's child been chosen as an offering for the Beast. Marianne was so young then, barely eight years old, but she couldn't forget the look of despair on Hilda's face. The two of them were fast friends since infancy, and Hilda was always a cheery, lazy sort of girl, but in that moment in time, Marianne swore she'd never seen fire and brimstone like she saw in Hilda's eyes.

"I'm going to face the Beast myself," Hilda decided. They couldn't have been older than ten years old at the time, and Marianne almost fainted at her words. "I'm going to make him pay for what he did to Holst."

"Hilda, don't!" Marianne begged. "M-My mother said that if you try to encounter the Beast before the sacrifice, you'll be killed instantly, and torn to shreds! Don't do this, Hilda."

"I have to," she whispered. "That's my brother. And you know what? I agree with him. This sacrifice thing, it's—it's _wrong, _Marianne. We can't let it go on."

"You'll have to work," Marianne pointed this out, desperate. If there was one thing Hilda hated, it was having to exert herself more than necessary, or at all. "It'll be hard work."

"I know," Hilda said. "I know, but it doesn't matter. I'm going to do something about this. You'll see."

Later on, Hilda would go to great lengths to defy her father's wishes, and do whatever she pleased. She liked making accessories and shopping, which were seen as _greedy _practices worthy of sin. While Hilda mostly did her hobbies in secret, there was one occasion where she crafted jewelry for all of her friends, and took money from her father's savings to travel to the nearest town, where she stayed for three days and four nights. She returned with a wagon full of goods, and distributed them to the village folk as she saw fit.

All while Goneril looked upon the practice with a scowl. Marianne's parents weren't yet divorced, but in spite of their raging arguments, they both agreed that Hilda was a bad influence, and so they forbade their daughter from seeing her again.

Marianne waited for her parents to fall asleep late one night, and met with Hilda in a nearby flower field. They were twelve years old, now, Hilda's actions somehow not yet earning her father's wrath. But it was only a matter of time before Hilda, too, was offered before Maurice. Before then, they agreed to rendezvous, at an hour so late no elder or parent could tell them otherwise.

Marianne fled the outskirts of the village, her cloak fluttering behind her in the breeze. She reached the farthest flower field, one that was overgrown and flourishing with dandelions, daisies, and little white snowdrops. It was hard to see in such darkness, and Marianne paused in the middle of the meadow, frozen in fear.

"Marianne!" Hilda hissed, beckoning. Marianne turned and saw her hiding behind a tree. She ran over to her, only to find her dressed in fine outerwear, with a beige bag slung over her shoulders, and her hood pulled over her soft pink hair. Her trusty iron ax was fastened to her side, as Hilda had taken after Holst, polishing her combat skills and readying herself.

...As polished and ready as a young girl could _be, _anyway. Still, it was leagues better than anything Marianne could do, as she herself was only able to summon a little bit of healing magic at the time. With a sigh, she spoke first. "H-Hilda, it's not safe out here. Are you really going to go through with this?"

"I am," Hilda said. "I'm heading over to Blutgang Cave, and I'll see the Beast for myself. See what kind of monster ate my brother, and the others."

"All this for Holst...I'm not sure if this is what he would've wanted," Marianne muttered. She wasn't angry by any means, but her tone was a little _sharper _than usual. "You shouldn't throw away your life for his."

"It's not just him. Raphael was taken last year, wasn't he? After my dad and the other council members said his appetite was too 'voracious—'" she rolled her eyes and placed emphasis on Raphael's supposed crimes— "and his temperament too 'wild.' Those are terrible reasons for deciding someone should _die, _at least in my opinion."

"But Hilda...I don't want to lose you, too."

She was quiet for a moment, and Marianne feared she had angered her, somehow. It wasn't an unusual occurrence, as Marianne was accused of "ruining everything" multiple times before. Did she have a right to say what is and isn't wrong, when she lacked the initiative to decide anything for herself? Did she understand the pain of losing a close sibling like Hilda lost Holst, and never seeing them for the rest of her life? Did she even understand the gravity of her words, and the meaning she meant to convey?

"I'm sorry," she quietly amended. "Goddess forgive me, I'm sorry, Hilda. Just forget I said anything. I couldn't—I don't possibly understand what you're going through." Marianne clenched her fists, and tore her gaze away from Hilda's—teary-eyed and flushed. "I'm sorry."

"...Don't be." Hilda laughed chastely, the sound cut off by a tiny sob in the back of her throat. For all her laughter and acts of rebellion, she was only a child, and one who missed her older brother more than anything. One who wanted a life greater than the forest, meadows, and the disillusionment that lived there. One who wanted to escape the cruelty of their village, and the violent practices they regarded as "sacred."

She wanted something _more._ "I'm next, y'know."

"W-What?" Marianne's heart plummeted, but she played the fool, anyway. "What are you talking about?"

"I overheard my father earlier today. They're picking me to be the sacrifice this year."

Silence. Marianne didn't move, either.

Hilda reached forward, but hesitated as tears began to fill her eyes. She planned this all out ahead of time, and practiced saying what she wanted to say, but everything was forgotten in a rush of heat—a sorrowful impulse that took utmost precedence. The realization of her own words had sunken in, and Hilda couldn't muster the courage to say anything else.

It was apparent that Goneril would punish Hilda soon enough, but neither of them expected it to come so soon. After all, Hilda was his last child, as Holst was taken years ago. Didn't he love her more than this? Why was he willing to throw everything away, if only to keep up a facade of power and composure?

The mere speculation was enough to send chills up Marianne's spine, and she was thankful for her cloak masking the worst of it. Carefully, she placed her hand over Hilda's, and held tightly onto her trembling fingers. "It's alright," Marianne said. "I-I don't believe the Beast can be bested...but if it's possible, then I think you're the one to do it."

"You really think so? I said the same thing to myself earlier today," Hilda admitted. "Well, I'm gonna get going soon. If I head down there now, I'll make it before the sun comes up."

Marianne thought of her parents, at home, and the faces they'd make once they noticed their daughter was out when she shouldn't be. While it terrified her to no end, she decided that these precious moments with Hilda—the _last _moments with Hilda—were worth all the punishments in the world.

Marianne placed her arms around her gingerly, hesitant to make a full embrace. Hilda wasn't having any of it, though, and closed the distance between them at once. "I'll miss you the most," she whispered into her shoulder. "Don't forget about me."

"I won't," Marianne promised. "I swear I won't."

It felt like an eternity and not enough time at all. There was a resistance rising up in her, one that wanted to stop Hilda from her fool's errand, but it died as she remembered Hilda's fate was sealed, regardless. Either she went out on her own to confront the Beast, or she'd be donned in her finest clothing, offered at the Blutgang Cave with a swarm of flower crowns and bouquets—the council elders walking away from her, smugly. Either she forged her own path, or let her fate be decided for her, as it was decided for many people before her.

As it would be decided for many people _after _her.

Marianne wanted to hold on tighter and never let go, but the moment Hilda pulled back from the embrace, so did she. And while she should have kept her eyes locked on her the whole time—remembering her figure as it slipped into the darkness—Marianne couldn't bring herself to witness Hilda's departure, keeping her eyes trained on the soft ground before her, instead.

Rustling leaves, an owl's hoot, and Marianne realized she was alone.

It was very quiet after that.

.

.

Marianne made the usual flower crown for Hilda as she did for everyone before her, but this time she added a tiny pink rose in the center of it.

Although Hilda was gone before the sacrificial ceremony began, they still went through the process of honoring her memory with flowers, and hauling their offerings to the Blutgang Cave, where the Beast would be waiting for someone to devour, only to find flowers, instead.

He must have been pleased, however, as no harm came to the village later on. And as Marianne cried to herself, hiding away in the meadows she loved but disliked so much, she found it funny that her flower crown—trampled on, dismantled, forgotten on the roadside like a hitchhiker—was _there_ of all places.

The only thing in tact was the pink rose, wilting but still whole.

It was just as well.

.

.

Marianne's seventeenth year was almost up. Oddly enough, she didn't hear the name of who would be sacrificed. While her family was renowned for her mother's new marital status, they weren't of great importance to the village otherwise, and news traveled rather slowly. However, when Marianne got to the stables and tended to Dorte, she was approached by another girl her age, with bright red hair and a devious smile.

She knew her name to be Monica, although the two of them never talked much before. Monica wasn't born in the village, after all, but moved in with her mother, who _had _been born there. "Hey, you're Marianne, right?" She smiled, with none of the comfort and all the gleam. "I'm Monica."

"I remember you," Marianne said. "D-Did you need something of me?"

"Just wondering about you and Dorte. What are your plans for future ownership or trades?"

Animal husbandry was their livelihood, but Dorte wasn't like the other horses they cared for. He was Marianne's constant companion, ever since she was a child and he, a mare. Deflecting Monica's niceties with a near scowl, Marianne grasped Dorte's reins with unmet force. "I don't have any. Dorte is not...for sale or breeding. He is my steed."

"But what happens to him if you're gone? Hypothetically, I mean."

"...I suppose he'd go to my mother. Why do you ask?"

"Aw, well, if you'll consider it, I'd _love _to have a horse, in my stead. Mother won't let me have one and I'm tired of planting veggies year-long. It'd be fun to go for rides in the forest, or roam the plains."

_It is fun, _Marianne agreed internally. _That's why I go with Dorte and no one else. _

_Why are you talking to me, again? _"What are you getting at? If...if you have no business with me, it's better that you leave."

Monica's grin widened, and it was at that moment Marianne understood everything that needed to be said.

Monica didn't bother sparing her feelings. "Didn't you hear? _You're _this year's sacrifice. So you won't be needing Dorte, or much of anything, anymore."

Marianne was a calm, composed young woman, who spent her whole life following the rules and regretting it. This news could be fake, but it aligned with everything that had been going on lately: sympathetic looks, quiet murmurs, her mother's own resignation. Did they all know before her, and lacked the courage to tell her straight on?

Her fists went flying before she knew it. Marianne wasn't strong, but she focused all of her anger, regret, and _spite _into a singular spot, centered right in the middle of Monica's damn cheek.

"I have to be going now," she insisted over Monica's cries of pain. Marianne took Dorte by the reins, and didn't look back. "If you'll excuse us."

.

.

"I'm sorry about this," Marianne's mother said. "But you gave into sin, and it couldn't be helped."

"Gave into sin…?" Marianne sighed. "We were supposed to go with Margrave Edmund together."

"I know we were, but the council insisted. They said that no one else had been particularly bad this year, and they only picked you at random. I went to vouch for your character, but Monica had come stumbling in, nose bloody and face ruined." Marianne's mother frowned at the news, as if she were more disappointed in the fight between them, rather than her daughter's gruesome fate. "It's true, isn't it." No question about it, although she posed it as such. "You punched that girl."

"...I did," Marianne confessed. Her chest felt light at the revelation. "Yes, she said some unpleasant things about our possessions, about Dorte. And I just...if I'm going to go, anyway, I don't want there to be regrets."

"Where did all this _rebellion _come from? I raised you better than this. We were almost out of here, free from all this madness, and yet you chose to turn your back on it all!" Her voice was raised, but she didn't care. Maybe she wanted the supposed 'happy-ending' more than she let on. "They wouldn't hear me out after that. And you can't say I never did anything for you. Your father and I, even Edmund, we all did the best we could. It's your fault, Marianne."

At a time like this, Marianne could only think about Hilda. Was this how she felt when she first learned of her fate? A mix of emotions that were indecipherable, but so strong that it was impossible to feel anything else? Her head was full, empty, a moment away from exploding on itself, yet completely chilled. All her life she'd been good! All her life, she kept her composure, and followed the rules! While all her friends left before her, as they dared to live even a _little _outside the lines, Marianne restrained herself, afraid of their fates, and afraid of the village's scorn.

It was all for nothing, and Marianne envied Hilda, Lorenz, Leonie, the others. She envied the way they stayed true to themselves, never faltering even in the face of death. Marianne might have been years too late, but if these were her final days, she'd live them out to the fullest.

She turned her back on her mother, face set in stone. "I'm sorry you think that, mother. I might be a burden, a curse, a failure...but at least I'm not a _coward." _

She slammed the door on the way out.

Petals flew in her wake.

.

.

Dawn of the day of the ceremony. Marianne anticipated this day the moment Monica's foul mouth flew open. While she hadn't gone completely renegade as Hilda had, she certainly didn't take any insults lying down. She lacked the strength to be totally volatile, but mastered the art of withering glances and harsh stares. Most people that had rude things to say were silenced by a dark glare or two, and Marianne felt relief and anguish at once.

Customarily, you were supposed to wear your finest clothes for the occasion, and be as well-kept as possible. Some part of Marianne entertained the idea of going in her smallclothes, or even in an outfit dirtied by mud. And while she gained strength over the days, she still wasn't bold enough to execute any of her fantastical ideas.

Instead, she was adorned in dark, black clothing. She wore a shawl over her favorite dress, along with her nicest shoes. Her hair was usually worn in a romantic tuck, with errant strands of hair sticking out at the front. Today, it was all contained, and not a single strand out of place, except for the ones she chose to keep that way, for aesthetic sense alone.

Marianne was beautiful, and no one said a word to her all the while. _Good, _she thought. _Don't talk to me, any of you. _In a bold display, her mother left the village before the ceremony even began, insisting that Margrave Edmund demanded her presence at once. Marianne's old house, a small, one-story stone structure, was cold and empty when she woke up. All their things were gone, except for Marianne's clothes and the bed she slept on.

There was a bouquet of black flowers left in her wake, alongside a handwritten note left by her mother, and Marianne held them close to her chest.

Then she plucked the petals, one by one, until nothing but stems remained. She almost tore the letter, too, until she decided that it was messy enough with the petals. Instead, she dropped the note to the ground, passing by it enough times until it flew into the corner of an empty room.

All that was left was Dorte. The horse was also left behind, of all things, and Marianne woke up early in order to see him. She spent the morning with him, riding him through the woods and over the hills. They viewed the meadows, the river, the flatlands that stretched forever. Some part of her desired to keep riding, and go far away from the village, but she went against it.

Hilda and the others faced the same fate before her—it was only fair for her to do the same.

Before she returned to the village, however, Marianne dismounted Dorte, and undid the fastenings to his saddle and reins. He whinnied sorrowfully at the motion, as if he knew exactly what she had meant by it. And she wouldn't be surprised if he did, because he was as close to a friend as the others had been, spending his whole life with Marianne up until now.

She stroked his face, and looked deeply into his eyes. "Dorte," she began to say. "I don't want them to make use of you. Mother is gone, and soon, I will be, too. But from now on, you needn't worry about me."

He neighed softly at her touch. She laughed. "I'm going to let you go now. I want you to be free, Dorte. Do you understand? Never come back to the village, because I won't be there anymore." She dropped his saddle and reins, the leather coming to a dull _thud _at her feet. "...If I am reborn, I hope to see you again."

Dorte lowered his head before her, nipping at her ears and face. Marianne knew this gesture well, as it was his way of saying _thank you, _countless times before. Thank you for the food, thank you for the rides, thank you for caring about me as if I was a person..

Thank you for everything.

It was quiet for a moment, and Marianne closed her eyes against his lithe body. Then he pulled away into a sprint, his mane flying in the wind behind him. He was a blur of colors disappearing into the woods, far beyond the reach of the village—or any village after that, either.

Dorte was gone, and Marianne officially lost everyone she ever cared about. Yet despite this realization, and despite the pain of being abandoned, Marianne carried herself home with a _smile. _

.

.

There were fewer bouquets and flower crowns made for Marianne than any other person, but she didn't mind.

"For you," Monica said as she placed a crown of thorns and roses on the wagon. It was the same wagon that took Raphael, Ignatz, Lysithea, and Leonie. It would have taken Hilda, too, but she left before anyone _could _take her. Marianne smiled fondly at the thought. "Goodbye, Marianne."

"Goodbye, Monica."

She sat in the back of the wagon, feet dangling off the edge as she faced the disappearing road. There was a crowd of villagers gathered, all of which saw her off with smiles on their faces. Among them, however, Marianne took notice of one person in particular.

Goneril. He was getting old in age, now, and childless as Hilda abandoned him before he could abandon her. His wrinkles and graying hair were signs of time, and regret, surely, but Marianne felt no sympathy for him whatsoever.

She kept her eyes on him the whole time. Even when the elders ahead of her began to ride, and even when the horses pulling her wagon started their ascent up the hill, she never lost sight of him. And this incline caused some of the floral offerings to fall off, in bundles and bundles until the road became filled with petals and twine.

A familiar flower crown, made of roses and thorns, also fell off the wagon.

Marianne crushed it underneath her outstretched heels.

.

.

She had never seen Blutgang Cave before this moment, but it was everything she feared it to be. Their village was situated in the forested plains just outside of a valley, and the Blutgang Cave was connected to a series of mountains that lead out to the sea, and to the lands far beyond that. The cave itself was tall, enormous, and made Marianne feel like an insect in comparison. It was filled with ice, strangely enough, and all sorts of icicles formed, with dripping water and perilous height. The entourage stopped short in front of the cave entrance, and Marianne hopped to her feet.

"The horses will go as far as the first separation in the cave," one of the elders explained. "Afterwards, you are to release their harnesses, and send them back out here. The Beast will find you on his own, and you will be taken. We will come back for the offerings left in his place."

They spoke carefully, methodically, as if this were a medical procedure and not a sacrifice before a monster. Marianne was to die so that others may live, and yet it was treated as a common occurrence—a _bother, _if anything else. Though, she supposed if she was the one to bring sacrifices down to the cave each year, she'd grow tired of it, too.

"I understand," she said. "Then, this is goodbye."

"Goodbye, Marianne von Edmund," one of them had said. How kind of them to honor her mother's new marriage, in spite of the pain it brought her. "May you be reborn into a better life."

She said nothing else as she took the horses by their reins, and guided them carefully into the cave. Even though it was a formality, she had her healing staff affixed to her side, ready in case it needed to be used. But would it be used? If the stories and legends were true, and if her friends were all gone from her life like they had been for years, then the Beast would appear before her, and swallow her whole. She would sit swarming in his stomach, acid burning her skin and melting her flesh, until she was nothing but bones. Then her name would be added to a long list in the village library, a reminder to future children that they ought to be good, unless they end up like Marianne von Edmund.

What did they write for her, she wondered? Did they put her down as despondent, introverted, anxious beyond consolation? Did they call her short-tempered because of her fight with Monica? Did they call her unreasonable, melancholy, and depressing to be with? Did they hate her? Did they love her? Did they miss her, at all?

While she denounced her relations to all in the village long ago, she couldn't help but wonder how her memory would linger. They would gossip about her and her mother for years to come. Her birth father, who left the village years and years ago, might decide to return one day, only to find his ex-wife and daughter had already gone never to be found again.

Well, her mother would be with Margrave Edmund, living in a large estate on her lonesome. She didn't seem hurt by the fact that her daughter was chosen to be sacrificed, but then again, she left before Marianne could say goodbye.

Did she regret everything, after all? Did she feel bad for her years of neglect and manipulation? Marianne was never the overly-curious type, but as her life came to a close, all the questions within her arose.

She finally made it to the first separation within the cave, each direction splitting off into a dark, black unknown. There were no traces of people having been then before her, but the elders had said they retrieve all that remains of their sacrifices, once the Beast had come and made his way with them. She paled at the thought of it: a pool of blood and flesh, mixed in with torn fabric, flower petals and strands of hair left behind. She didn't envy the ones who had to clean up afterward, just as she didn't envy those who remained in the village, naive and accepting of such a horrid way of life.

"Go on," she said to the horses after unfastening them. "Head back. You shouldn't stay here any longer."

They obeyed without question, undoubtedly used to abandoning their charges in the middle of the cave. The wagon stayed behind with her, though, and it slumped on one end as the weight became imbalanced. She rummaged through the offerings, and found a particular flower crown she had made herself.

It was simple, with vines serving as the base, and tiny flowers inserted in the space between them. A single violet, forget-me-not, daffodil, buttercup, daisy, marigold, pink rose, and iris served as the "flower part," each of them affixed in a circle until the multi-colored flowers formed a ring. Marianne placed the crown on top of her head, and sat patiently in the middle of the clearing, waiting for the end.

Quiet. It was a cave, and yet there were no sounds to be heard. As if the dripping water had ceased, along with the rumbling of rocks displacing themselves. It was as if there were no life to be found, even though Marianne knew life existed on every inch of the planet, as the Gods had intended it to be that way. But then again, this was the Beast's domain, and it would make sense if nothing dared to live where his monstrous feet stepped.

_Boom! _The cave reverberated with a low rumbling, and Marianne closed her eyes. She always wanted to see the Beast with her own eyes, but now that he was growing nearer, she feared him. She always feared him because he single handedly ruined her life, taking everyone she had ever loved with him, and leaving her alone to suffer by herself. His very existence mandated the village's way of life, centering their daily efforts around being "good" and "free of sin," separating the conformers from the rebels. And those at the seat of power abused that fear for their own gain, deciding who lived and died simply due to personal preference.

Maurice was here, and it was Marianne's turn to be devoured.

She gulped.

"WHO GOES THERE?" Marianne sensed a shadow above her, its presence looming over her head, _the world. _"YOU…"

"I-I—"

"STATE YOUR NAME."

Eyes still shut, she whimpered before the bellowing voice. "Marianne von Edmund."

"MARIANNE…"

"I'm here to join my friends. You remember them, don't you? Raphael, Ignatz, Leonie, Lysithea, Lorenz...and Hilda. You took more than that, but those were my closest friends."

"...HILDA…"

She choked up at the mere mention of her best friend's name. Could she be called that, though? Did she deserve to remember her so fondly, when she was unable to stop her from certain doom?

Marianne opened her eyes.

The Beast, for all his terror, was too large to see at once. All she could glean were his eyes, scales, and massive mouth. He exhaled loud, wet breaths from between crooked teeth. The eyes that were visible were bright red in color, and his scales were as black as night. Marianne glanced for more details before death, and discovered his large legs—a massive tail that ran the length of the cave.

And yet, she remained unharmed. Maurice, the Beast—the man who sinned to the point where the Gods themselves had to punish him—stood before Marianne von Edmund, completely calm and placid. She even guessed that he'd turned _content, _until his eyes narrowed into slits, body leaned towards her and blocking out the light.

"YOU SHALL PERISH. HOWEVER, THE FEASTING SHALL NOT HAPPEN HERE. WE MUST TRAVEL THE LENGTH OF THIS CAVE AND EMERGE ON THE OTHER SIDE."

"Um...okay?"

"VERY WELL. HOP ON, HUMAN. LET'S SEE YOU PUT YOUR FLEETING LIFE TO ITS USE."

And in a display she never thought possible, Marianne watched as the Beast lowered itself to the ground, nearly flattened before her. She hesitated at first—something that scaly had to be uncomfortable, for sure—but realized that there was nothing she could do to defy him, lest she be eaten otherwise. With a deep breath, she climbed onto its back, and settled somewhere less scaly, and mildly comfortable to sit on.

Then the Beast rose, and she almost gasped as the cave seemed to shrink before her eyes, icicles hanging only several feet above her. "WE SHALL DEPART AT ONCE," it said.

"You're not going to eat me?" She blinked against the darkness of the cave, and the height of its scales. "How come?"

"IT IS BEST TO SAVE MEALS FOR LAST," was its only explanation. "ALTHOUGH, IF YOU WERE TO SING A SONG OR RECITE A HYMN TO PASS THE TIME...I MAY SPARE YOU YET."

"I'm not very good at singing," Marianne murmured. "Even though I love the Goddess, I…"

"JUST SING. THE CAVE'S ECHOES WILL SUPPORT YOU."

Marianne decided on a particular song. It was one of her mother's old favorites, and she still knew the words. " _Reach for my hand, I'll soar away, into the dawn, oh, I wish I could stay... "_

The Beast was quiet as he listened to her cadence, weak and wobbly, but somehow endearing. When she was done, he spoke in his loud voice, commanding silence and fear at once. "WELL NOW," he mused. "WHAT AN ELEGANT MORSEL, IF I'VE EVER SEEN ONE. WE'RE GOING TO HAVE A LOT OF FUN ON THIS TRIP, YOU AND I."

.

.

He had promised to eat her, but every step through the forest was kinder than the last. They would take breaks during which Marianne cupped her hands, collected water from the melting icicles, and drank. She would dismount the Beast, only to find her feet uneven and asleep after hours of sitting. Other times, the Beast would approach her, and ask her for stories, songs, or ramblings to keep him pleased. He even went as far as to ask her about her friends, a topic which she was rather sore about.

Yet she divulged, nevertheless. "Hilda would've hated this. She came to you years ago, attempting to slay you. I'm sure she failed, but I...I never stopped thinking about her since then."

"THE DAUGHTER OF GONERIL IS A VIVACIOUS ONE," the Beast agreed. His voice boomed so loudly and deeply, but as the days went on, Marianne grew used to it. "BUT NEVERMIND THAT. WE ARE A WEEK AWAY FROM OUR DESTINATION."

_A week left of my life. Why is he taking so long, I wonder? Has he...done this with the others, as well? _"A week…?"

"HERE IS WHERE WE PART." The Beast prompted for her to get down from his back, and she scrambled to the ground, nearly tripping on her face. He snorted at her, voice too grizzly to produce a laugh. "AS YOU CAN SEE, THESE CAVES REDUCE IN SIZE. I CANNOT FIT THROUGH THE SPACE."

Up until that point, the Beast occupied so much room that the ceiling of the cave nearly scraped his back, and Marianne either had to walk next to him, or lay flat on her back, so as to prevent being injured. Now, however, the Beast's back _was _against the ceiling, and chunks of rock and ice scraped off to the ground with his every movement. "YOU WILL WALK THROUGH UNTIL YOU REACH A SHIMMERING POND. AT WHICH YOU WILL STAY THERE AND REST FOR TWO DAYS AND TWO NIGHTS."

"Wha—"

"YOU WILL DIE OTHERWISE. BUT AS I WILL NOT BE HERE, I CANNOT ENSURE YOU WILL DO AS I SAY. THEREFORE, YOUR LIFE IS NOW IN YOUR OWN HANDS."

He ignored her every outburst as she tried to badger him for more information, answers, pleas of any kind. Marianne gave up when his tail became a flickering spike in the distance, and soon enough the darkness of the cave settled in, leaving her in the middle by herself.

Was she always so destined to be alone?

"It's not like I...have anything else left to do…" she muttered to herself, turning on her heels and facing the direction she was supposed to go. She feared the darkness to some extent, and wondered how long it would take before everything turned pitch black, and she'd be lost to the Blutgang Cave, just as the others were lost before her.

...Or maybe, they made it to the end, after waiting for two days and two nights, only to emerge from the other side and swallowed at first sight. She shivered at the thought, blanching at the horrid realization that no matter what, she was stuck. She didn't memorize their route up to now, just as she hadn't any idea what to do in case of self-defense. Somehow, she was allowed to bring her healing staff, but she doubted that the white magic would be useful in a situation like this.

Out of options, Marianne walked forward, eyes strained for the pond in question.

Five minutes later, she realized that the walls of the cave were lined with _torches, _as they had been for some time. The Beast could see in the dark, surely, so there was no need for light to be this handy. Upon inspection, the torches were simple wooden slabs with oil and cloth attached to the top, burning with black smoke and the scent of firewood. Some of them went out when she got too close to them, but Marianne managed to dislodge one torch from its holding place, carrying it high and in front of her as she walked.

Then the embers of the torch flitted in the air around her, and she could see a murky image of orange and red reflected in the water.

She made it.

And, oddly enough, the pond was illuminated by _light. _Marianne looked upward, only to see a giant hole in the ceiling. It was too high to even entertain the idea of climbing out, but the sky was visible enough to allow for the telling of time..

Why? Why allow such a luxury, when she was sacrificed to the Beast and ordained to die? Why give her hope in despair, igniting a spark of expectations and giving way to a plethora of fantastical ideas? If she were more athletic, or magical, or skilled, then maybe the hole in the ceiling would be a godsend. But she was neither of those things, and instead the moonlight shining through the gap tormented her, reminding her of a world that she could no longer live in.

Reminding her of all the mistakes she made along the way. "Oh, I should've been braver." She started mumbling to herself, unabashedly, as it were. "Hilda, I should've gone with you. Or helped you. And Lorenz and the others, I should've tried to stop them from taking you. Why didn't I? And Mother…"

She curled up next to the pond. The water was stagnant but clear, and for the life of her she couldn't remember if it would be safe to drink. But there was less ice in these parts of the cave, meaning it was her only source of hydration. Oddly enough, though, she wasn't too hungry, but the Beast had said that the water was sweet, to the point where it might replace what should be a voracious appetite.

Of course he would know about _that._

The girl in the water's reflection was a weakling, who even at the doorstep of death, couldn't be bothered to go out all the way. "I'm sorry, everyone," she whispered. "I've let you all down."

.

.

Two days and two nights had passed—Marianne made sure of it. She watched the sky morph into different colors, witnessed the stars blinking in and out of sight. On the second night, she glimpsed the moon, and its pearlescent white roundness, casting guiding rays into the hole above her. Dawn of the second day had her witnessing the most beautiful shade of pink she'd ever seen, and she couldn't help but think of Hilda, whose roseate image was just as radiant and equally as grand.

Marianne never got to tell her how much she loved her that day. She didn't get to tell her _anything _as the days slipped by, opportunities passing through her fingers like sand.

Gods, how miserable could a person get? To regret so much but yet doing so little...was it typical of her, Marianne, or was it a curse placed upon her entire family? What were her mother and Margrave Edmund doing right now? Did they miss her? Honor her? Hate her? Love her? Or did they not even think about her, instead opting to live life as if there had never been a Marianne, making all their rich neighbors and friends ignorant to the struggles they once faced.

Her thoughts were cut off by the sound of footsteps. Marianne rose to her feet, hands instinctively clutched at her staff. It couldn't hurt people as well as black magic or a blade, but she still knew how to cast _Nosferatu, _and those small tricks were the difference between life and death.

"W-Who's there?" she called out. The Beast was thunderous, and those footsteps paled in comparison. It could be an animal, or a human, which in the latter case meant she was doomed. "Leave me be!"

"...Marianne?"

She dropped her staff. All her instinct, fear, thoughts, and hopes died at once. Everything within her, all the emptiness and turmoil in tandem, seemed to pause, as if time itself came to a standstill. Her ears ached at the sound of it, just as her eyes went wide at the emerging shadow from across the way.

An image of pink, but it wasn't the sky.

She fell to her knees, whimpering in a sore voice, "H-Hilda?!"

"That's me," she said. "I guess I've got a lot of explaining to do, huh?"

.

.

Hilda always had such beautiful features. Her hair, her eyes, her lips—all of it was _pink, _sweet, and shining. She was a true sight to behold, and anyone would've been jealous of her, Marianne included. Yet despite this natural attractiveness, she never acted _too _arrogant, and instead enjoyed the company of her friends, going out shopping and relaxing in the shade whenever she could.

Hilda, on the night she left the village, was obscured in dark colors, lips drawn to a frown. Then she melted into the woods, becoming a rumor and legend in the same moment. She was gone, and Marianne was sure she'd never see her again.

So why was she standing there now, completely alive? Not to mention that it wasn't as if she were a ghost, because a ghost Hilda would be twelve years old in mentality and appearance, and this Hilda was different.

Her hair was longer, but no longer worn into the twin-tails Marianne was used to seeing. Instead, every strand was pushed back, held into a high ponytail behind her, fastened with a black band. And her fringe stopped short of her brows, still, each strand even and cut. She wore battle clothes, the style of which was least surprising to Marianne, as she always knew Hilda to be a fashionable, charming person. The length of her skirt and the cut of her blouse were perfectly well-done—serviceable yet _stylish. _

Marianne's cheeks were hot, and she wasn't sure if it was because of her own _rage, _or because of Hilda's appearance before her.

Maybe it was both. "Are you...real? Is this real?"

"I am, and this is." Hilda laughed, and Marianne nearly doubled over, in physical _pain _at the noise and the memories it resurfaced. "Whoa, are you okay?!" Hilda rushed to her side and got down on her knees, hands pressed against her shoulder. "W-What's wrong?"

"How is this possible? All these years, and I—" _I would've gone to Blutgang Cave myself if I knew you were here— _"I thought you were dead."

"It's hard to explain, but I'm gonna try," Hilda comforted. "So, let's take deep breaths. Together, okay? Just like old times!"

Marianne was overwhelmed with the nostalgic thought of 'old times' just as she was unable to coherently express anything except a _shudder. _Her body shuddered, her breath quivered, and she was sure that her heartbeat was going too fast to be normal. It was scary to think how composed she'd been up to now, and it took a moment of peace and reconcile to do her in. The fear, like everything else, drowned her, and she could do nothing but clutch at Hilda's shirt and sob.

"Y-You were dead! You were gone! You and Lorenz and Lysithea and, and, and—_Ignatz _and Leonie and—"

"I went to fight the Beast," Hilda told her over the madness. Her voice was amazingly calm and steadfast, which was nothing like the laid-back tones Marianne was used to. She sniffed, heartbeat unsteady but bearable enough that she focused on Hilda, instead. With a laugh, Hilda went on to say, "It was _so _embarrassing. I barged into the cave, swinging my ax around, my hair was a mess...and then the Beast appeared."

"..."

"I tried to attack him, but my ax deflected off his scales." She pouted at the thought, as if it were a minor inconvenience and not a death-defying decision on her part. "Then I tripped over myself, and I realized I was dead."

"That...is that true?"

"Yeah, but I _wasn't _dead. The Beast—Maurice, he took me down this cave, and told me to sit here and wait."

"For two days and two nights?"

Hilda grinned. "Yeah, that's right. Same for you? Except he did it in that ominous voice of his. I can't even imitate him because I'd kill my throat trying."

Marianne snorted, snot going down her throat and tears streaming down her face. "Y-Yes, his voice is...it's loud. My ears were ringing."

"Mine too! And it's just, ugh. Okay, so I wait here like you for two days and two nights, and I hear someone coming down the other side. I still had my ax in hand, so I, like, did what anyone else would do, y'know?"

"You attacked?"

"Yeah. And if it was someone shorter than Raphael, I would've cleaned their head right off." Hilda sighed, and tightened her hold on Marianne's shoulder, but not painfully so. "But it _was _Raphael, and it hit him in the tummy, y'know, and luckily he was wearing armor, so nothing bad happened, but like _wow!" _

"So, so...Raphael...is also alive?"

Marianne was still shaking visibly, and it didn't stop despite Hilda's comforting touch. Understanding this, Hilda moved back, cross-legged and eyes trained to the ceiling. Some of the oppression on Marianne's chest disappeared, but not all of it, so she was stuck staring at the ground.

Hilda hummed. "It's not just Raphael, you know. They're alive."

"They—"

"Ignatz, Lysithea, Leonie, Lorenz...they're alive, too. Marianne, _everyone's _alive."

Marianne laid down on her back, arms spread and voice titillating into a high laugh. "Everyone is alive! Everyone? That's so...that's such a relief, Hilda. I'm so happy."

She laughed once more before closing her eyes and succumbing to her exhaustion.

The darkness never felt so comforting before.

.

.

Marianne woke up to a scream. She bolted upright, head pounding and heart screeching, hands clasped over her healing staff. Hilda wasn't just a dream, right? She was alive and well, for all these years since they've been apart, so why was she screaming?

"Hilda! What's wrong?"

"S-Sorry," she gasped. "I'm not in danger or anything. I just woke up and found a spider on my nose."

Marianne deflated. "Oh. I thought—I thought you were hurt."

"No, I'm fine. Sorry about that."

"It's okay. So, uh, you're…"

"...Yeah?"

"Real? Alive?"

"I am. You passed out on me, though, so I kept a fire going. There's not a lot of life in these caves but there are way too many insects." She stuck her tongue out with a scowl. "Disgusting."

"I didn't mean to sleep so suddenly. Although I guess I-I wasn't getting much rest these days..."

"Don't apologize. I know how you felt, really. That moment where you think that you're gonna—" Hilda cut herself off with a sigh. She'd never been the nervous type, at least not when compared to Marianne, but there was something palpable in the air around her. Something heavy and cloying, fog to her heart.

Marianne reached out and tapped the end of her healing staff against Hilda. There was a soft glow over her skin, and a visible shimmer of _relief _over her body. "Thanks," she murmured. "Guess I was too jumpy then. Sorry for the rude wake-up call."

"It's fine," Marianne insisted. "I should be up, anyway. I wanted to ask you something."

"Go ahead."

"If you and the others were actually alive this whole time, why didn't you—"

"Come back?"

"...Yes. Why keep it a secret? I-I don't understand."

"I thought about it a lot of times," Hilda admitted. She smiled softly, but it was the kind of smile that turned embers into flames, twisting the knife deeper into the wound. It was a smile that Marianne never wanted to see, yet couldn't help but witness. "I can't speak for everyone when I say this, but...I just felt like it would be _wrong. _Like, the whole village's sacrificial ceremony thing is really, _really _messed up."

"It is."

"Yeah! And, like, I dunno—going back to that, it just isn't what I wanted. My dad's there, but if I saw him right now, I'd be too mad to do anything but shout at him." She frowned deeply: mouth set into a bitter angle, nose scrunching into little folds. "And it's hard to go the whole way through this cave without the Beast. He doesn't take anyone back to the village, either."

"Where does he take us, then?" Marianne asked. "And why did he leave me here?"

"At the other end of the caves, past a few roads and into the valley, there's a settlement." Hilda took a stick and drew lines in the dirt. She wasn't artistic by any means, but her sloppy shapes were enough to get the point across. "And this settlement is where all of us 'sacrifices' live. Since the beginning."

"The beginning?"

"There are some people who were _born _there," Hilda regaled. "Do you remember the Riegans? They used to be friends with my parents back in the day."

"I've heard of them," Marianne said. "Mother knew them, too. She told me about how they got married at a young age, and were sacrificed for being too 'impatient with love.'"

"Yeah, and that was years and years ago, right? Well, turns out, they both ended up at the settlement, and they had a _kid. _His name is Claude and he's our age. He helped me out a lot when I was there for the first time, so when we get there, I think it would be really cool if you guys meet each other."

Marianne had a hard time imagining what it was like to be Claude, or any other settlement-born child. But if the sacrifices started a village of their own, and lived off the land while increasing their numbers by the year, then it only made sense that some people would be born there, rather than in the village where Marianne used to live. Her heart yearned for that sort of blissful ignorance.

"In any case...about the Beast…"

"Right, him. Well, it's complicated, and he wouldn't tell me the whole story or truth, even when I asked pretty please!"

"With a cherry on top?"

"_With_ a cherry on top!"

Marianne giggled. The rapport was familiar, easygoing, as if they'd never been apart at all. "What _did _he tell you, then?"

"The curse is real. I mean, you can guess that one yourself just by looking at him!"

An image of scales and teeth entered their minds at the same time, and Marianne involuntarily shivered. "That's...true…"

"But he never killed anyone. I think the first villagers were really scared of him, and so they offered themselves up without thinking. He walked with the sacrifices down the length of the cave, and heard stories from them about how cruel life in the village was. I think he got the idea to take the sacrifices away because of that."

"Well, he ended up being completely right," Marianne muttered. "I-I...and everyone else...talking and acting as if we're sacrificing little things and not people…"

"The bright side? None of us died because of the Beast."

"But still, it's the thought itself!" _The agony of waiting! The anxiety of death! The absolute everything that's wrong with this mess! _"Everyone thinks we're dead right now, Hilda."

"They do," she agreed seamlessly. "Which is why we can't just go back, even if we want to. The Beast drops us off halfway for a reason, y'know."

"I know: he's too big for the caves further in, right?"

"It's not just that. He has someone come in here to meet with the new sacrifice to—I don't know, do damage control? It's not perfect, but it's better than nothing."

"...And this year, it happened to be you?" Marianne nearly whispered, still in disbelief over everything. "All this time I was looking for you, and you were here. Just miles away from me…"

"I'm so sorry, Marianne." Hilda embraced her, chill to the touch and mildly clammy. "I'm sorry it ended up like this. Even back then, I never got to tell you everything, and I just—"

"N-No, I understand."

"You do?"

"Not really, but I guess what I mean to say is that...I won't hold it against you. I know that you and the others...would h-have trouble if you, um, had to go back and explain yourselves."

"..."

Marianne convinced herself of her resolve before voicing it. "There's nothing left for me there, either."

Hilda, not yet letting go, asked, "What do you mean?"

"My mother...we were supposed to move in with Margrave Edmund, and I was supposed to be old enough to skip out on this year's picking, but...I got into a fight, with some girl, and the next thing you know, they—"

"They picked you? All because of a silly fight?"

"And Mother just let it happen. I suppose she couldn't...uh, really do much about it, could she?"

"She could have," Hilda countered. "Everyone could have _done _something. It's what Holst tried to tell them way back. And he's right, Marianne. I hate admitting it, but he's right." She pulled back from the embrace, hands lingering on the sleeves of her dress. "There's something wrong with everyone there if they think this is the solution."

"...I agree…"

"You do?"

"I do, I-I never said anything before now, but...if I could change things, I would've gone with you back then, Hilda," Marianne croaked, before covering her mouth with her hands. The tears that were so absent the past few days came out in full, sliding down her face with ease. "G-Goddess forgive me, but I...I would have gone with you. I _should have _gone with you."

"Oh, Marianne! You didn't have to, and for me? I…"

"For you. I missed you s-so _much, _Hilda. I missed all of you."

"I missed you too." She pushed back the errant strands of hair from Marianne's face, and kissed her forehead gently. "I missed you so much."

"...Thank you…"

"I'm sorry this took so long, but the two of us are finally back in business! Father used to say things like we were nightmares dressed as daydreams."

"E-Elder Goneril said that? He did?"

"He did!" Hilda nearly collapsed on herself, but less with dramatic effect and more with pure exhaustion. "Gods, he was insufferable. Er, I mean, _is _insufferable. I try not to think too much about how everyone is doing, because it's the one thing that sucks about this whole arrangement. But otherwise, everything is _so _much better over there. Like, millions of times better."

"I can only imagine," Marianne hummed. "W-Will I get to see that place, too? And live in it?"

"Of course!" Hilda jumped to her feet, and despite the unsteadiness from before, she seemed energized at their new prospects. She helped Marianne stand up, too, and said, "It sucks to have to say this, but I was really thinking I'd never get to see you again. You were always so sweet and gentle that there was no way those stupid old hags would choose you for the ceremony. You never did anything wrong!"

"That's not true," Marianne denied. "I-I'm not a totally good person...I was too afraid to do anything, and let time slip me by...really, it's a miracle I'm here at all."

"Are you serious? A miracle? Marianne, I know they preached about the Goddess, and stuff, but give yourself a little credit. Even if you didn't mean to, you ended up here! And that's way more than any little miracle." Hilda beamed, and stretched out her hand until Marianne grasped it, arms swinging. "It's _fate." _

"...You can put it that way if you want. It doesn't matter anymore, now that I'm here with you."

Hilda squeezed her hand even harder, eyes sparkling their overdue sparkle. "With you," she agreed. "Let's get going."

.

.

"Your father was..._is_ sad these days. I imagine he might regret sending you away."

"Aw, how sweet, except he's still a total jerk. But it doesn't really matter, because I didn't almost-go-back to the village to see my dad, y'know!"

"Then why did you?"

Hilda stared wide-eyed, dumbfounded, before giving Marianne's hand a playful push. "I did it for _you." _

.

.

Days passed and Marianne wondered if she entered purgatory. Her hours were filled with endless walking and talking: her stepping carefully through the cave, Hilda talking animatedly as she took the lead. Their friendship picked up right where they left it off, and Hilda's gossip reminded her of their days together, where she'd be reading fashion magazines and talking about city life, while Marianne quietly read the Verse of the Goddess to herself, occasionally responding to the idle chatter.

Only this time, the two of them were both armed, and willingly traversing through the longest tunnels imaginable. At some point, the ceilings reached only a little above their heads, and Marianne struggled to imagine Maurice walking through here as he is.

"Maurice is his name, but honestly, he hates being referred to at all," Hilda said. "Claude always schemes about terrorizing the village someday—nonlethally, of course, or so he says—and Maurice has to shoot him down everytime."

"Claude sounds very interesting," Marianne mused. "I'm glad you had someone to talk to, though."

"Oh yeah. And the rest of our friends are there, too! Ignatz got back into painting, and Raphael still eats his weight in food. Lysithea is less in a rush to do stuff, now that there's no real danger, you know, and Leonie and Lorenz are, like, totally dating."

"They are? But she hated him so much before!"

"I know!" Hilda gasped. "Trust me, it was the news of the century. They haven't made it official, but Claude and I have seen them one too many times to know they aren't just being friendly."

"I-I'm glad." Marianne's cheeks lit up, and she coughed into her sleeve to distract from her reddening face. "U-Uh, Lorenz...was a lot to deal with, but he was very nice to me when it was just the two of us for a while…"

"I know. He'll be so glad to see you! I think they all will be."

"..."

It got quiet. Hilda could talk up a storm, and Marianne was good at listening, but the moments in between that—the _silence _that existed in between chatter, the peace which rose from the chaos—were equally satisfying. Marianne was afraid of the opposite happening, of awkwardness between them and a distance unshakable. They were apart for so long, after all, and lived completely different lives all the while. Hilda was saved, but Marianne was forgotten.

It could've easily gone bad.

Instead, the silence was comfortable and familiar. There wasn't always a need to ask about things beyond their understanding, or inquire about things they weren't around to see. In the chilly air and dim lighting, the two of them were vulnerable, and yet completely steadfast as they walked together, hand-in-hand, never once releasing their hold and not yet ready to destroy the peace.

It was quiet.

It was _good._

.

.

Marianne stepped outside of the cave. She couldn't believe it at first, and it was so dark outside that she almost couldn't tell, but Hilda's pace quickened with a "We're almost there!" and Marianne was out of breath before she knew it. Then the hollow atmosphere of the cave was replaced with something brighter and fuller.

Dawn—beautiful, wonderful, forthcoming dawn settling in the horizon. The sky was black-turning-light-blue, and a sliver of the sun was just starting to come up. There were tall, pointy trees reaching towards the heavens, and windy paths that seemed to go on forever, interspacing hills and mountains and valleys alike. A breeze picked up, and while it was icy to start with, Marianne grew accustomed, and sighed as her worries were momentarily gone with the wind.

Hilda stretched her arms upward, sighing out of relief. "Good, outside air. We made it!"

"Where's the settlement?"

"Follow me and I'll show you."

Hilda stepped forward, and Marianne followed hesitantly. This was unfamiliar territory, after all, and although she traveled to Margrave Edmund's estate multiple times, she almost never went outside the village otherwise. She escaped the threat that was once the Beast, but there was no telling what the rest of the world had in store for her.

The leaves crunched under her heels as she walked, Hilda's hair cascading over her back like a waterfall. Marianne watched the bright, opulent strands move back and forth, finding comfort in their movements. She had half a mind to let her own hair down, until remembering that they were to come up to another settlement soon, and she didn't want to greet so many people with an unkempt appearance.

Although it had been almost two weeks since they first set out on this journey. Hilda brought real food with her when she met with Marianne, although they ran out of it a day prior to leaving the caves (Hilda had quite the appetite and she underestimated how long it would take to get out) and Marianne was starving.

However, the windy paths began to straighten out, and a warm glow of light enveloped what looked to be a small town. It was bigger than the village, that was for sure, and the houses were larger and sleeker, roads sustained with concrete instead of cobblestone, and tall trees lining the borders of the settlement itself. There wasn't a sign or a guide saying where to go, but Marianne moved as if possessed to some unknown part of the town, anyway.

"Marianne, wait!"

"Hold on," she called out over her shoulder. "I can't believe it."

In the middle of town, by a flowing water fountain, was a man and a horse. The man was handsome and lean, with dark hair and sea-green eyes, a golden cape flown over his left shoulder, trailing behind his long sleeve. He reached out to the horse, comforting it so, until he noticed Marianne's presence with a smile. "Oh, there you are. He's been waiting for you."

"Dorte?"

The horse neighed, and galloped over to Marianne, bowing its head before her.

She gasped. "B-But how? I left him in the village, and set him free!"

"Funny enough, I was out hunting, and this guy comes bolting out of the woods. He seemed like he was waiting for someone. So I took him in."

"You did?" Hilda caught up to them, now, and wore an incredulous expression. "How _chivalrous _of you, Claude!"

"Claude?"

"That's right. I take it you're Marianne, but I don't want to get ahead of myself just yet."

"No, you're right. That's me," she said. "How did you know?"

He looked between Hilda and Marianne, smile growing wider. "Just had a feeling. Besides, I've never seen Hilda look so happy—"

"Haha, very funny. Why don't you take the horse and get lost? We're hungry and Marianne could use some time to rest!"

He laughed, sounding hollow yet warm at the same time. Marianne only stared as he agreed with Hilda, effortlessly. "You're right, you're right. I'll be seeing you two around, anyway. Get some rest. Come, Dorte."

The horse wanted to stay with Marianne, but ultimately gave in as Claude lead him by the reins. When they were out of sight, Marianne sat on the edge of the fountain, exhausted. "I-I can't believe this is real."

"It is!"

"This place is _beautiful,_" she murmured. "And it's really okay for me to be here?"

"It's more than okay," Hilda insisted. She brought her hand over Marianne's and squeezed it tightly. "Because if you're here, then there's no place I'd rather be."

.

.

"Marianne! Why, you look extravagant! I was so worried over you, considering I was sure the elders would never find you disagreeable, and yet here you are! How delightful!"

"Y-Yes, Lorenz, it's good to see you too. I'm happy you still thought of me…"

"Are you kidding? We haven't thought of anyone else since we were all reunited like this!"

"Marianne! Welcome! I-I hope it's okay that you're here now. I know it takes some getting used to."

"Ignatz…"

"If you have time, you and I should talk later. I have something I've been meaning to give you—"

"You just want to hog all her time, don't you? I won't allow that!"

"Lysithea, t-there's no need…"

"No need? It's been years! You should see all the tomes on black magic this library has. It makes the one back at the village look like a kid's study."

"To be honest, it's getting hard to remember stuff from the village, but the food here is _so _good that it doesn't matter! We should have a feast to celebrate!"

"There you go thinking about food, Raphael...shouldn't we give Marianne some time to rest? Her and Hilda have just come back after a long journey, you know."

"Leonie, you're so thoughtful! But for once, I'm with Raph—let's eat!"

"I-I'm also hungry…"

"Then what are we waiting for? Let's celebrate!"

.

.

It all seemed to glow: the lights, the food, the smiles on people's faces—and Marianne never thought she'd feel so _full _or _happy _before. It didn't erase all the negativity from her body, just as it didn't ease her nerves, but it was a vast improvement from before, when everything felt hopeless and bleak.

She reconnected with everyone in some way. Ignatz had painted her portrait—of course it was from when they were thirteen and so it was inaccurate to her maturity now—and gave it to her, a belated present for all the years he missed her birthday. Raphael laughed and joked with her, despite the fact that she knew his sister was still at the village. "It's fine," he said. "I'm not gonna rush. My sister's in a safe place, and if she's ever sent here, well, then she'd be in a safer one!" Marianne wanted to argue with him, as she could hear the pain in his voice, but she held herself back.

Leonie and Lorenz truly were dating, and it was the oddest sight she had yet to see. At the very least, they kept each other happy, although Leonie sometimes felt as if Lorenz was too obsessed with nobility and watching Claude. "It's not that I don't trust the man, but for people born here, rather than in the village, they have skewed ideas about how the world should be." Leonie did her best to ignore him whenever he got too weird in this regard.

Lysithea was definitely older and more mature, but still obsessed with sweets and getting better at just about everything. She nearly mastered black magic as a whole, and had her eyes set on swordsmanship, ever since she watched Claude and Ignatz spar one time. Together with Hilda, they were always battle-ready, and often hunted for food together, or went out to quell local threats to their safety.

Hilda and Claude were quite close to each other, as Hilda claimed they were before. They joked and laughed about things that no one else quite understood, years of inside jokes shared between them. But instead of making Marianne feel left out, they were far too eager to let her in on their secrets, an act which flustered her to no end. At the very least, Hilda never kept her eyes off of her, and whenever Claude smirked knowingly, she couldn't help but feel exposed.

The celebration in her name was a grand one, and Marianne had still not caught sight of the Beast himself. "He never comes by here," Hilda lamented. "Only a few times a year. Claude is the first one to know about him, so if he's here, then Maurice isn't."

Somewhat sad about this development, Marianne accepted it for what it was. She couldn't possibly understand what went through that beast's head, but if he was truly immortal and cursed as he had shown himself to be, then it made sense for him to always be on the move—never in the same place twice.

A week since her arrival, Marianne met Hilda by the lake, a short walk away from their new home. It was reminiscent of the last time they rendezvoused, only this time there would be no separation made afterward—no daring escape into the middle of the night.

Hilda arrived with a smile.

Marianne spoke first. "I-I hope it's okay if we talk out here, just the two of us."

"Of course it's okay! There are a lot of people in town, and even though we share a house, we also share it with Lysithea and Leonie. It's not exactly private in there, sometimes."

"Right…"

"Plus Lysithea is staying up all night to do...something. That girl never learns."

"Haha, sounds just like her...when she used to stay up in the library and read about ways to reverse curses...she wanted to free Maurice and stop the practice, right?"

"Right. And rumor says she was actually _close _to freeing him."

Marianne stilled. "T-Truly?"

"Yeah! Crazy, huh? Although Lysithea says she doesn't read into breaking curses as much, Claude said he spotted her in the library doing exactly that. She hasn't given up on Maurice, still."

"If she does break the curse...then what?"

"Well, if we decide to follow Claude—because he's been making himself out to be the leader of all this—then he's going to raid the village and set things straight. According to him, 'no one should live in fear of life itself.'"

"..."

"So, I don't know what I'll do then, but it sounds like fun, doesn't it?"

"Yes, it does…"

"Oh, look at me, going on without a care in the world. You wanted to say something, didn't you? What's on your mind, Marianne?"

"I wanted to thank you," she said. "Because of you I...I was able to have the strength to go on."

Silence.

Marianne kept going. "I was so lonely, I constantly dreamed about...about reversing time, going back to before everyone disappeared. I prayed to the Goddess—and other Gods, too—that they'd figure out a way to save us all. I used to wish that you would come back, if no one else."

"Marianne, I…"

"Then I ended up here, and that was also because of you. You found me, Hilda, and I...I'm just…"

She sobbed into her hands, covering her face with shaky movements. "I'm so _happy." _

"Oh, Marianne, I—I'm happy, too!" Hilda threw herself into Marianne's arms, for the umpteenth time, but each time was never enough. "I'm so happy, too. I'm glad that I still held out after all these years. I would've gone back if you didn't show up when you did."

"Really? You really mean that?"

"I mean it."

"In that case, can I ask you for something...selfish?"

Hilda giggled as she pulled out of the embrace. "Depends on what you're asking."

"Can I kiss you?"

Hilda's eyes widened, and fear gripped Marianne's heart once more. Oh, she went too fast, didn't she? She ruined everything they built up to now because of a stupid impulse, didn't she? Her love for Hilda was one-sided this whole time, wasn't it? She was going to regret ever being alive, wasn't she?

Marianne opened her mouth to speak, to take it all back, but was silenced as Hilda came closer, and pressed her nose against hers. "You can," she cooed. "Only if I don't kiss you silly, first."

Marianne didn't have time to reply as Hilda snatched her breath in one full sweep, taking the confirmation from her lips as they kissed.


End file.
